A Dangerous Secret
by Existentialist
Summary: REWRITTEN! When Voldemort and Harry Potter die in a valiant battle, all hope is lost for Godric Gryffindor's heir...until a prophecy is made...please RR. CHAPTER 1 AND 2 UP!
1. Prologue

A/N: Hey everyone, again! Sorry I haven't updated for a while and sorry I deleted the old story. I just didn't like Chapters 3 and 4 so I decided to rewrite the whole story. This is my second attempt at a Fanfic, so please R/R!! Plus, I need a beta reader, so if anyone wants to, please email me! Thanks! =)  
DISCLAIMER: Okay, let's just get this over with. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Although I wish I did, I do not own any of the characters mentioned in the books. I only own the plot, Lily, and all the others NOT mentioned in the books.

* * *

It was the coldest day of December so far and there was a bitter cold whipping in Stan Shunpike's face. But Stan didn't mind; there was talk in the village- talk of things that hadn't been spoken of for two years- and he was willing to risk the wind and cold to hear it, despite his health. 

He drug himself to the Hog's Head, where he could rest and have a firewhiskey. He sighed gratefully when he finally saw the peeling letters of the Hog's Head. Inside, there was total silence. He caught the eye of the old bartender, who indicated to a small woman who many were sitting with, listening intently. Stan surveyed the woman as he limped toward her. She was indeed old- she had long white hair and so many wrinkles her face looked like a spiders web- and small, with eyes that made her look like an overgrown bat, and had a shaken expression on her face.

"Go on, Sibyll. Tell us what happened, go on...tell us what you... _Saw_." A woman urged Professor Trelawney.

Professor Trelawney, of course, had retired from teaching years ago, but she was a Seer, and was treated with much respect throughout the village. Sibyll Trelawney closed her eyes as trying to remember. Stan rolled his eyes. Of course, this was one of her crackpot old prophecies she had made millions of times- of war, of hatred, and of the Potters.

The Potters were a couple only spoke about in reverence or never spoken about at all. Though the tale of Voldemort's tale was intriging, no one wanted to talk about it, as Harry Potter, who defeated Voldemort, disappeared shortly afterwards. Stan shuddered. He hated to even think about it.  
  
Suddenly, she opened her insect-like eyes, and began.  
  
"I...must...have dozed off..." She started in her frail, misty voice, looking at the people around her. Stan snorted derisively. She glared at him and continued, "I was dreaming something unusual, when the dream changed. I saw the Potters, leaving the world we are now, and something...else. I couldn't make out what it was until I saw the jet black hair. It was a child, a child of-"  
  
But that was all the pub needed to start a babble of excited talk.  
  
"I knew it."  
  
"So it's true, there _is_ still an heir..."  
  
Stan sat there, watching people argue and talk in excited tones, until someone whispered in his ear,  
  
"What did I miss?" Stan jumped. There stood a woman with short black hair, grinning.  
  
"Tonks! Wha' are you doing 'ere?"  
  
"What everyone else is doing here," Tonks said impatiently, dumping her bag onto a chair, "I heard that there is one last Potter left, so I came to where I was sure Sibyll would be-a firewhiskey and a gillywater, please, Aberforth." She added to the bartender, who scuttled off to get her order.  
  
"Do you fink it's true? About the Potter kid?" Tonks shrugged.  
  
"Probably. I was talking to Mundungus, who was eavesdropping again and says it's the real article. Trelawney pulled a real one, mate." She pause to take a swig from her tankard.  
"Dumbledore's going to have a lot on his plate. With the secret out and all." Stan opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a woman with straggly, sandy hair and protuberant eyes.  
  
"Hello Stan. Hello Tonks," Luna Lovegood said in her husky voice, sitting down with her drink in one hand and a strange orb in the other. Luna Lovegood was an Unspeakable, and very strange. And, in any event, he'd heard stories about her. Stan looked away from the orb. Whatever the orb was, whatever it did, he didn't want anything to do with it.

"Hello, Luna," Tonks said, pulling out the chair next to her. "How is work?"  
  
"Lovely," she said, staring at Trelawney. Stan ignored her and turned to Tonks.  
  
"You fink the Potter's could be alive? 'Cause if the kid's alive..." Tonks shook her head mournfully.  
  
"No. If You-Know-Who didn't kill them, the Death Eaters did the job for him. Honestly, this world that we live in...the Potters were nice, good people, and to think they are dead..."

"What if the Potters weren't dead?" Luna said thoughtfully. Stan jumped. He had completely forgot that Luna was there. Tonks shook her head again.  
  
"How could that be possible, Luna? The Death Eaters killed them. There's no other explanation," Tonks said firmly, as though trying to convince herself as much as anyone. She paused for a moment to blow her nose, in which time Stan checked his watch and yelped. He was fifteen late for his post.

"I better git goin'. I'm late. See you, Tonks. And you, Luna."  
  
"Bye, Stan."  
  
"Goodbye," Luna said, finishing her drink.  
  
And with that, Stan Shunpike trudged out of the pub and into the night, thinking. A Potter...alive. What could it mean? How could Trelawney remember the dream? Stan shook his head disbelievingly. It seemed like a bunch of codswallop to him...but there was still hope...A Potter, alive.  
  
And with these confused thoughts, Stan disapparated, disappearing into the night with a swish of his cloak.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Here is Chapter 1. I'll probably post Chapter 2 today or tomorrow, if I get some reviews. Hope you guys like it! Please R/R!!!! Thanks.**

* * *

Lillian Shrewsbury woke up with a start. She had had that dream again. The dream with a man and a woman holding a baby, a flash a light, a scream, and then they were gone. She groaned and looked at her clock. 6 am. Grumbling, Lily got out of bed and looked into the full-length mirror her dad had bought her for her birthday two years ago. As though she remembered this, her eyes went immediately to the picture of her family. Her father, her mother, and Lillian herself. Her father, George Shrewsbury, was an accountant for a prestigious firm, and her mother, Celine, was a school teacher. Again she turned her head to the mirror, examining herself. Her black hair was tangled and her eyes were bright.  
Her eyes had to be her favorite feature about herself. Her mom said that her eyes were like emeralds-penetrating, bright green eyes-and she didn't understand which side of the family they came from. In fact, she looked, to her family's bewilderment, nothing like anyone in her family at all. Her mother had blonde hair and brown eyes, and her father had brown hair and blue eyes. In fact, no one in her family had black hair or green eyes at all.  
She heaved a deep sigh and looked away from the mirror. She would go downstairs and get some breakfast. She tiptoed down the stairs so her parents couldn't hear her, got some milk out of the fridge, and started to make porridge. Ten minutes later, George Shrewsbury came in for breakfast.  
"Morning, Lily. How did you sleep?" he said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I was up all night..." He yawned and grabbed the milk from in front of Lily, never finishing his sentence.  
"Good, thanks," said Lily, smiling. Her dad looked like he had a very long night indeed. He had huge bags under his blue eyes and his hair was also rumpled. She stood up. "I'm going to get the post...Alyse is supposed to be sending me a postcard from Florida..." George nodded not taking his eyes off The Sun, his favorite newspaper. Lily grinned. Typical Dad. She walked toward the door and picked up the pile of post. She scanned the pile quickly. One for her mum from Aunt Victoria, three for her dad from his firm, and...Lily stopped and stared. This one was addressed to her. She thought.  
Lillian Potter  
Number Six, Magnolia Cresent  
Little Whinging, Surrey  
Lily's hands shook as she opened it. Inside where two papers. She pulled out the first one and read aloud, "Dear Ms. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She stopped. Hogwarts? Witchcraft and Wizardry? It had to be a joke, it had to be, someone making a joke... She shook her head, still walking and reading. "Please send reply by return owl." Owl? She walked up to her dad. "Dad?"  
"Hm?" he said, his eyes still reading the Sun.  
"Look at this," she said, shoving the paper under his nose. He lowered his newspaper and took the letter. Looking from the letter to Lily and back. He put his face in his hands.  
"Lily, will you go and wake your mother, please?" He asked after a long last, looking at her. Lily was suprised. Why did he want Mum? "Lillian, please!" he said before Lily could protest. She ran up the stairs and woke her mother, who was downstairs in minutes.  
"Dad, what's going on?" she asked. He ignored her and handed the letter to her mother, who read it. Her face paled. She looked at her husband, then back at Lily, who was standing in the doorway.  
"What's going on?" Lily repeated quietly.  
"Lily, come and sit down." She nodded, sitting in the kitchen table acrossed from them. It was silent for a moment. Lily sat in her chair, braced for the impact. "Lily, we're sorry we didn't tell you until now, we just didn't want to believe it was true. We thought it'd be safer." Her mum's voice broke, and her father had to continue.  
"We would have liked to think of you as our own, our child. We planned on telling you, but...not this soon..."  
"Mum, Dad, what are you talking about?" she was shaking. Her parents had never acted like this before. She had to steady herself for a moment. George and Celia looked at each other. Time seemed to stand still. Lily held her chair tightly, still trying to steady herself.  
"You're adopted, Lily."

* * *

Marcus Malfoy sat there, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was up early, and he knew it, but he was in no mood to go back to sleep. He had had a nightmare again, but it was so normal now everyone considered it old news. He always had the same nightmare, with a pair of cold, grey eyes and a flash of blue light. He decided that he would go down to have an early breakfast.  
He put his robes on, thinking last night's conversation on what school he school he should attend the next year. Marcus snorted. Conversation wasn't the word for it. His father was deadset on him attending Durmstrang, a Dark Arts school somewhere North. His mother was rather against this.  
"I don't want my son going to a Mudblood-lovers school!" His father had retorted. "Hogwarts is a disgusting place, full of Mudbloods and Mugglelovers. I even heard that Weasley is teaching there next year-" He said with disgust, but mum cut him off.  
"I don't care!" she shouted. "He's not going!" And after much arguing, his mother won. He had gone to Diagon Alley, and would be going to Hogwarts in two weeks, which Marcus wasn't too happy about. Most of his friends were going to Durmstang which, his father had said, was a more prestigious school.  
"Notorious, you mean." Her mother had muttered over dinner. Marcus sighed. It was the usual argument, an argument that had torn Marcus' parents apart. Draco threw her a very dark look and said, "It doesn't matter. Just remember your pure-blood heritage."  
"Right." said Marcus, stabbing moodily at his steak-and-kidney pudding. "Remember your pure-blood heritage"...he hated the whole mania about pure-bloods. People were people, who matter who they were related to. He was sick of it, sick of his parents having rows every day...quite honestly, he would be willing to go wherever took him if he got away from the manor...even Hogwarts...  
He began washing his face in a stone basin. He looked up and saw his face in the mirror. His dark hair was standing straight up, and his cold, blue eyes, that were so much like his father's, were bloodshot. Then he noticed there was a pretty woman with her black hair pulled up into a messy bun. Marcus jumped and turned.  
"Hi Mum," he said, trying to be cheerful.  
"Morning, darling," she said, also trying to sound cheerful. "How did you sleep?"  
"Fine," Marcus lied. Angelica smiled fondly.  
"That's great," she said, sitting down and wincing. Marcus sat down next to her, concerned.  
"Mum..."  
"I'm fine," she said, smiling sadly. She stared at him for a while. "You look so much like your father..." she said, brushing his hair away from his face and pulling him into an embrace. Marcus smiled. He loved it when his mother came in his chamber in the morning. She always smelled sweet, like blossoming roses, and her grace was striking. But as soon his mother came in his room, he knew why; her and Father had had a row again. Sure enough when she released him, her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm so sorry, dear," she said, attempting to brush her tears away. "It's just hard to see you so old, and leaving school...and with your father being the way he is..." Marcus nodded, as though to agree with her.  
He descended the staircase in a bad mood, snapping at the house elves and dropping the eggs they had made him. He again read the letter from Hogwarts until the Morning Prophet came. Suddenly, he heard shouting in the room next to him. He sprinted from his place at the table in the dining room and into the cupboard in the kitchen.  
"NO, I WON'T HAVE IT-" There was incomprehensible shouting in a female voice. Marcus' mother's...  
"SHUT UP!" He roared, and there was a scream and the shattering of glass. "YOU'RE NEVER TO SPEAK OF THAT AGAIN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" There was a pause. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" There must have been a nod, because all was silent in the house. Marcus climbed out of the cupboard to see all the house-elves standing there, shaking. Marcus continued to eat his eggs. He knew he should be scared, but he wasn't. This was old news-the crashing, the screaming... Marcus sighed. The sooner he left the Manor, the better. 


	3. Chapter 2

_"As you can see the-" There was a long bang and Ronald Weasley entered the room. There was a deafening silence. No one in the house would have dared entering in such a fashion, unless there was-_

_"Ron, what is it?" Harry asked, turning to him._

_"Harry! Hermione, she-I did everything I could think of-but she won't wake up-Harry, I think the Death Eaters-" Harry's throat tightened and he stood._

_"Where?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking, staring at Ron. "Godric's Hollow?" Ronald nodded. Harry ran over to the fireplace, grabbed some powder, and threw it in the flames. It burst with green flames. He stepped in the warm flames and shouted, "Godric's Hollow!"_

_Harry fell through the fireplace and burst through the kitchen door, Ron behind him There had definitely been a struggle. Ron grasped Harry's shoulder. Harry turned._

_"Hermione!" Harry stared at Hermione's body in the pool of blood, his eyes burning. He held her body close to him, rocking back and forth. He looked up at Ron. _

_"And Lily?" he asked, his voice cracking in agony, though he knew the dreaded answer...._

_"I'm sorry, Harry. She's gone. They are both dead." Harry look away from Hermione's blank eyes. He looked at Ron, who was also looking away from Hermione. Ron stared at Harry, as though waiting. Harry looked away, his eyes welling up with tears. "I have to go," Ron muttered. Harry nodded, grateful. He wanted nothing more than for Ron to go, to leave...Ron walked away, with one last look at Hermione, and shut the door behind him. unaware of doing so, Harry walked up to Lily's room, with pale pink walls and moving picture of Lily, Hermione, and Harry in a family picture. _

_He sat down on Lily's bed and cried. Cried for his wife. For his daughter._ They were dead and they weren't coming back. _He wiped his eyes. He had to get out of this house. He had to leave these memories behind. At this thought, Harry hurried down the stairs to wear Hermione's body laid.He stared at her blank eyes, swallowing the deep well of despair in him... _

_"Kreacher!" he said loudly, and Kreacher waddled in. "Please pack all of my belongings. Yes, everything," he said quickly as Kreacher opened his mouth to argue, "I don't want anything left behind."_

_"What of the Mudblood's things, Master?" Kreacher said raspingly. Harry turned to Kreacher, who was looking at Hermione, a sort of indifference in his eyes about the fact there was a dead body in the house. On any other given day he would have punished Kreacher for calling Hermione a Mudblood, but he was too drained, too weak. _

_"No." he said, his voice cracking. He turned his back on Hermione. "She won't be needing them."_

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Sorry so short, guys! Hope you enjoyed it. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE R/R! Thanks! -Tori 


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